This child has an amazing memory for all the smallest things.
She woke up in the middle of the night the other night and she was out of sorts. Earlier in the day she had hit herself in the face and her lip was bleeding. She asked me for a boo boo (bandage) and I told her we were all out, we had used the last of them that afternoon (I had put a bandage on her leg to make her lip feel better since I couldn’t put one in her mouth).
She says to me “what about Cookie?”
Yeah, we had one of the Sesame Street Band-Aids left, it was sitting on her dresser, and it was Cookie. I was hoping no to waste it, but she called me on it.
We’ll be in the middle of doing something and she’ll bring up something from a show she’s watched or something I’ve said before. She was telling the story about Timmy’s teddy bear from Shaun the Sheep the other day. Don’t remember the last time she watched Shaun the Sheep.
Meanwhile, she’s also completely full of shit sometimes. She’s a liar. She makes up stories.
She was telling Grandma a harrowing tale of the time she fell on her head and had to go the the doctor. Didn’t happen.
She told a story about a fantastical crash on her trike in which she, again, hurt herself and, again, had to go to the doctor. Nope.
Then there was the time we were driving in the car and she told me how she’d been born a sheep. You’d think I would remember that.
She’s also a big fan of telling us stories about when she was a “little, tiny baby” or sometimes “six years ago.”
For the time being I’m going to assume that this story telling is all part of development…